


research and development

by bookhobbit



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell & Related Fandoms, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Demisexuality, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Grinding, M/M, Oral Sex, Sexual exploration, Switching, Trans Male Character, does it count as pwp if the porn IS the plot, john childermass: service top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 19:51:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15647784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookhobbit/pseuds/bookhobbit
Summary: Norrell has come to a decision, and would like for Childermass to help him execute it. Childermass exceeds the call of duty slightly.





	research and development

**Author's Note:**

> This is....not my usual kind of thing for them at all, but I had a plot bunny, as we used to say. And I thought it would be an interesting challenge. I am slightly embarrassed to be posting it. I hope it's enjoyable for someone at least??
> 
> Norrell is trans in this fic. This is not in the slightest what the fic is About, but a few bits will be really confusing if you don't know that, so.

Norrell had come to a very difficult decision. It had been a very long time coming, but he was, he thought, capable of enduring such a distraction now. Indeed to continue to be so plagued as he was now would be more distraction than solving it would be. He was not accustomed to talking openly of such things; they were not fit for it. But then, if there was anyone who would know, it would, after all, be Childermass. Childermass knew the world.

Yes, it must be done.

"Childermass," said Norrell, plucking up his courage and sitting down beside the desk.

"Sir," said Childermass absently. He was doing something with the accounts. Perhaps the distraction would make Norrell's request seem less odd; it was worth a try, certainly.

"I have a task for you," he said, hands fidgeting furiously, twined together and twisting.

"You usually do," said Childermass.

Norrell glared at Childermass for not making this easier by asking and said, the words coming out all in a woosh so that they almost tangled up with each other: "Iwantyoutofindmeaman."

Childermass looked up from the accounts. "What sort of man? Who?"

"No," said Norrell, with a significant pause. " _A man_."

Childermass put the pen down and leaned forward, carefully. As always, he avoided Norrell's eyes. This was one of the many, many, many reasons that Norrell forgave him his lack of discipline. "I think you'd better be clearer, sir."

"You know what I mean," said Norrell irritably.

"I _think_ I do, but since it contradicts everything I know about you, I'd rather have it outright."

Norrell frowned and looked at Childermass's hands. "You don't mean to tell me you didn't know I was..." He searched for a term that didn't make him wince. "That I preferred men."

"Oh, that I knew soon as I met you, or not long after," said Childermass, sifting through a stack of books on the side of the desk. "Don't look like that," he added, "It's not dangerously obvious. I only knew because I'm the same myself."

Norrell's jaw dropped. He closed it with a click. Childermass? Or, well. That explained a good deal, but didn't solve anything. He said, "Then you know what kind of man I mean!"

"Not really," said Childermass. "Why do you want a man? Do you want one for hire? For free? What are you going to do with him? What do you want him to look like? "

Norrell attempted to resolve this mass of questions. "Do you really have to ask? For hire, there's no question of getting one for free here, not safely. I don't know yet, precisely. I don't care."

Childermass raised an eyebrow. "And as to your...peculiarities, as you call them? How will you find one who won't spread that?"

Norrell scowled. He had not wanted to be reminded of this. "I thought you could find one who was trustworthy."

Childermass gave him a diplomatic look, which on Childermass generally indicated that he thought you were a fool. "I don't think you've thought this through as well as you need to."

To be lectured by a servant on the topic of hiring company for an evening was entirely beyond the pale, even if he did have more experience in matters of the world. "I am a grown man, Childermass. I have thought about it as much as I care to, and I would thank you to do as I ask."

Childermass stood, and came around the desk. He leaned heavily on the desk, so his legs must have been bothering him (very few people save Norrell knew that Childermass leaned not out of impudence but, generally, to spare his knees and hips). Norrell watched him with a pinched mouth, then looked away as he came to sit in the chair beside him.

"You wanted a man," said Childermass, "Here I am."

Norrell whipped his head around to look at Childermass's face. There was no hint of humour on it, although he wasn't always particularly good at telling. "That's not what I meant, as you know perfectly well!"

"Why not?" said Childermass. He swept a hand down himself theatrically. "I am, indeed, a man. If it's my looks you're objecting to, that's reasonable, but you said you didn't care what he looked like. You don't know what you're doing with him. Why not me?"

Norrell stared. He tried again to detect signs of joking in Childermass's face, but there still wasn't any. "You can't be serious."

"Why not?"

"You're my servant!"

"Yes, and therefore not likely to reveal any secrets you don't want revealed," said Childermass. "I serve you, it's in the title."

Norrell's brain, running wildly in circles, took a hint from his body about exactly what serving might entail, and caused him to blush. "But," he said helplessly, "You're ten years younger than me at least."

"I am a grown man," said Childermass, which wasn't fair, because it was what Norrell had just said. "Next objection?"

"It's not appropriate," said Norrell. "It's not what I pay you for."

"I know," said Childermass.

Unfairly, this halted the objection in its tracks. Norrell cast his mind about for another. "But if you are not being paid for it, why do it?"

Childermass shrugged. "Safer this way. If your secrets get about, your household gets compromised, you could be ruined and I could lose my pay."

"But I didn't want it to be...forced," said Norrell. "I would have paid a professional. If I pay you, it becomes an insult, because you're my man of business, and if I don't pay you, I am extracting duties I have no right to expect."

Childermass gave this due consideration. "And if I happened to find a willing fellow, one who wanted your company just for the fun of it, what would you say?"

"You wouldn't find one," said Norrell firmly. "Impossible."

Childermass raised his eyebrow, and made that same theatrical sweeping gesture.

"No! You can't be!"

"Why not?"

"You could have anyone. Anyone nearer your age, or better looking."

"Thank you," said Childermass with irony, "but I'll stick to what's here, if you'll have me. Will you have me?"

Norrell gaped, fidgeted, stared at the floor, and then, finally, said "Yes."

"Well then," said Childermass. "Here? Now?" He leaned forward, just a little, and his always-untidy hair fell into his eyes. Norrell felt a terrible tug, a desire to reach forward and touch his face, feel that hair, but he restrained himself.

"No," he said. "I want to be...prepared. And this is far too public, anyway. Meet me tonight, if you please, when you've finished your duties. My bedroom."

 

Norrell spent most of the evening restless. Perhaps this was a bad idea. Perhaps it would all end badly. Maybe he would have to send Childermass away from Hurtfew. Perhaps they would have some sort of horrible falling-out. They'd always worked so well together before.

But Childermass did arrive, right when it was starting to get dark. Norrell had bitten his nails nearly to the quick, but he put them behind his back, quickly, and stood up.

"Childermass," he said stiffly.

"Sit on the bed," said Childermass.

Norrell, obediently, sat.

"Guidelines," said Childermass. "Firstly, you call me John here."

"Why?"

"Gives you distance from my...servantness. Keeps things seperate. And I won't call you sir. If I need to call you anything, it'll be Gilbert, but I'll try and avoid it."

"Very well. John." Norrell stared at his own hands. He wondered if he should object to these notions, which were after all very improper, but then, what are you going to do when your manservant is sitting beside you on your bed... "You said firstly?"

"Ah. Yes. Secondly, obviously, nothing that would leave obvious marks in uncovered places."

Norrell nodded.

"Lastly, no getting attached. I'm sure you won't, but best to make it explicit. This is for for your...curiosity," said Childermass with a little twist to his mouth. No, not Childermass: John.

"All right," said Norrell. He found himself starting to bite his nails again, and twisted them in his lap instead. "I don't know how to begin."

John smiled, a skewed and crooked thing even when it was sincere. But Norrell was sure he _was_ sincere, somehow. "What do you want?"

"I don't know," said Norrell. "I don't know what I like. I've been too consumed with..." He trailed off.

"We'll start slow," said John. He took one of Norrell's hands in his, lifted it to his mouth, and kissed the knuckles gently.

 _Oh_ , thought Norrell. _Oh_. He could feel warm breath and feather-light lips and it was strange how sensitive such a functional area of his body could be. No one had ever kissed Norrell's knuckles before. One boy had kissed his lips and it had been terrible, but then, the boy had been under the impression that Norrell was a girl and that had ruined the entire occasion. He had not sought out the experience again for fear that it would be even worse.

This, though...this was good, he thought. John turned his hand over and kissed the palm. Childermass was never quite adequately shaven and today he could not be called shaven at all: there was something like a three day beard on his chin, and the texture was fascinating. Rough, and prickly, and somehow that made his whole palm come alive. John's lips were soft, dragging very softly against the skin of his hand. Ticklish, almost, and yet not.

"Lay thyself back," said John, pressing Norrell against the pillows. Norrell didn't question the pronoun use. It seemed all of a piece with the first names. If John was to be John, why shouldn't Norrell be thee?

John lay back beside Norrell, and took up his hand again. This time, instead, he trailed his thumb up Norrell's fingers, one at a time. Thumb first and then a barely-there kiss on the pad of it. Then index finger, and so on. Norrell lay back and watched, fascinated. He felt awkwardly as though he ought to have been doing something else, but he couldn't quite think what it was.

Fingers, and then wrist. John's fingers curling around Norrell's wrist, soft and gentle, surprisingly gentle for a man of his demeanor. Scratchiness and softness moving up his arm...

John rolled the sleeve of the nightshirt up and kept on going. Norrell shivered, but he was getting distracted by what he was meant to be doing with his other hand. Should he be touching John's hair? Holding still? Making more noise? Fidgeting? Stopping fidgeting? He felt the worries grow in his mind. Was this going to be one of those occasions where every physical sensation got bad, overwhelming? Was John going to be offended and storm off in a huff?

Abruptly, he realized John had stopped.

"You don't seem to be enjoying yourself," John said evenly. "Not what you want?"

Norrell, now speechless with terror, tried "I--I--" and couldn't get further.

But John seemed to understand. He let go of Norrell's hand and placed it on Norrell's lap, then lay beside him. He did not seem to require Norrell to speak. Instead, he let Norrell lay there and let the panic course through him. Norrell tried counting to thirty; it helped him a little. He closed his eyes and tapped his fingers against his leg; this helped too. He counted and tapped until he'd calmed down again, finally settling into a normal heart rate.

John had been watching him. He had morphed back into Childermass when Norrell wasn't looking -- protective, though not as wry as usual.

"Well, I suppose I've made a fool of myself," said Norrell when he could talk again.

"No," said Childermass. "What happened?"

"I became... lost," said Norrell. "In fear. You may go now."

"Do you want me to?" said Childermass.

Norrell blinked rapidly, surprised. "Does that matter? I'm sure you didn't come to bed with me to witness me have a fit."

"No," said Childermass, "I knew it might happen. It talks folk like that sometimes."

"What does?"

"The first time, if they're thinking too much. Or the first time in a while, or after something happens."

Norrell pursed his lips. He hadn't thought about Childermass doing this for other people. What had he been doing in York besides pickpocketing, when Norrell had found him? "I didn't realize this was a habit for you," he said.

"I don't think that's anyone's business except mine," said Childermass levelly.

"I suppose not. I shouldn't have asked."

"Aye," said Childermass. "But I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. Shall I stay?"

"Could you?" said Norrell.

Childermass lay down and seemed to get comfortable on the bed. Norrell, hesitating, followed.

"Want to tell me what happened?" said Childermass.

Norrell was silent for several minutes. He wasn't sure if he did want to. It was so embarrassing. But then maybe Childermass would know a solution.

"I was wondering if it wouldn't be as good as I thought," he said at last. "Or if things wouldn't....work. Myself. My body."

"As for the first, might be, it's your first time. Doesn't mean it won't get better. As for the second...have you not practiced on your own time?"

Norrell flushed, speechless with embarrassment and annoyance. "I beg your pardon!"

"No shame in it. It's wise in your situation."

"Well," said Norrell, "a bit."

"Well, then. The equipment works fine. If it isn't comfortable this time, it'll only be because you're nervous. That happens to most folks sometimes. Nothing to be embarrassed about."

Norrell gaped at this frank speaking, and flopped his head onto the pillow. "Oh," he said.

Childermass laughed, a sly little laugh but not a cruel one. Conspiratory in a way that included you. "Makes you feel better, does it?"

"A little. It...gets better?"

"Aye, generally. Mine was rubbish. The first, I mean. But you've got an advantage, being older, you're not teenaged and fumbling and trying to figure things out with a lad who knows less than you do."

Norrell considered this. "I only ever felt...delayed."

"There's no delays in these matters," said Childermass, with unexpected kindness. "Everyone takes it at their own pace."

"Oh," said Norrell again.

"So," said Childermass, "If now in't a good time after all, it don't have to be now, and it don't have to be me." His voice was going back to John, thought Norrell. "I can come back later, or not at all."

"I don't know," said Norrell. "Could I ask something of you?"

"You can ask."

"I have never been kissed, properly kissed, by someone I didn't dislike. Could you kiss me?"

Something odd flashed across Childermass's face, but he said, "Yes, if you like." And leaned forward.

Norrell met him halfway. He expected it to be an unpleasant sensation, the way it had been before, but John, and he was John again now all the way, was gentle. His lips pressed softly against Norrell's the way they had against Norrell's arm.

There was none of that sudden involvement of tongue which Norrell had historically found so unpleasant. There was no undue wetness, nor aggressiveness. Norrell had never expected John to kiss like this. He had thought that John, inclined towards roughness in some other matters, would be rough in his kissing. As abrupt as he was in everything else. And he had wanted to see if liking John would be enough to overcome that, but there was nothing to overcome.

John applied a little more pressure, tilted his head, kissed Norrell again. Norrell's eyes closed. Yes. It was good after all. And then John took Norrell's lip between his teeth and tugged, and oh, oh, oh. Norrell curled his toes and shivered.

John, parting a little, lifted himself up on his elbows and smiled. That smile, which had always been so distracting. "Worth the price of admission?" he asked.

Norrell blinked and pulled him back down. John came willingly enough, and rolled himself over, on top of Norrell. They were chest to chest and leg to leg now. Norrell tried kissing again. It was even more agreeable this way, with John's weight on him, and their bodies so close. Norrell wrapped his arms around John and stole a hand up his shirt. It felt terribly forbidden to touch skin not shown to the public. He could feel scars there, and wondered idly, but John shifted his weight just so and Norrell was distracted.

"Would you bite me again," he mumbled, "harder."

John laughed, not conspiratory anymore but powerful, and bit, and oh, _god_. Norrell felt weak and small and helpless and that, incomprehensibly, was good. For once, being weak and small and helpless meant getting what he wanted. He wanted to be pinned here and bitten all over. He wanted to bite in return.

"Come on," said John. He was tugging his own clothes off, and Norrell watched with helpless delight. His hair had fallen loose, and came out of its queue entirely when he pulled off his sleep shirt. It tumbled over his brown skin, waving wildly and hanging in his face. He was thin, very thin, and not at all pretty, but there was something beautiful about the angularness of his shoulders and hips, the length of his hands.

Norrell, a little nervous, let John pull his nightshirt off. He curled in a little, embarrassed about himself, but John tutted.

"None of that now," he said. "Tha shouldn't be ashamed of thy shape. It's a good shape." He cupped a hand gently on Norrell's chest and ran his thumb across one nipple, but Norrell shuddered and drew back.

"No? All right." John left it, and unhurriedly traced a line down Norrell's stomach, from his ribs down...further, and Norrell closed his eyes as those long fingers moved. It was not going unpleasant so far. It was definitely pleasant. He bit his lip.

"Does tha know why thy wants?" said John, hand moving slowly but surely.

Norrell bit his lip harder and shuddered and said "I don't know, anything."

"Best not to have me inside of you, you don't want to fall pregnant."

"Ugh!" said Norrell, quite awakened from his enjoyment by the thought. "No. I do not think I should like anything stuck inside of me, in any case. It sounds unpleasant."

"Many find it so," allowed John. "Bear in mind, when someone asks what you want, it is best to say what you don't want if you don't know what you do."

"Anything but that, then," said Norrell.

John laughed a little. "Has tha any oil?"

Norrell silently gestured at the chest of drawers. He had prepared, even though he had not wanted to acknowledge doing so to himself. John spread some along Norrell, and then along his own thigh, and positioned them carefully so that his thigh was between Norrell's legs, pressing up against him.

Then he began to move. Yes, thought Norrell, this was definitely pleasant. John coordinated the movement of his leg with little kisses and nips on Norrell's neck, and Norrell couldn't do anything except hang on. His nails must have been digging tracks into John's back. John didn't seem to mind.

John was moving faster now and had stopped kissing Norrell's neck. Norrell needed something to bite, he needed something to _do_. With a small soft murmur he closed his teeth around John's shoulder, just where it joined the neck. And bit, hard.

John said _fuck_ and for a moment his rhythm broke, as if he was distracted. Then he began to grind rougher than before. It was not long until Norrell let go, shivering and whimpering. John kissed him, long and slow, and rolled off him.

Norrell lay on the bed, feeling stunned, while he fetched a cloth from the basin and cleaned them both up. He wanted to ask if John needed anything else -- he had not reached his crisis -- but he was being so very businesslike and Norrell didn't like to bring it up. He was, after all, not experienced. And perhaps it was what John wanted.

It was Childermass who came back to lay on the bed beside him. This was, no doubt, for the best.

"Well," said Childermass reflectively, "I think you'll do. Once you get over your nerves, you're likely to find yourself quite well equipped to keep experimenting."

"Mmm," said Norrell vaguely.

Childermass laughed again. Back to inclusively conspiratory, which was probably just as well. "Been a while since I had cause to induce that reaction in anyone."

Norrell put a hand over his eyes. "That was better," he said. He remembered he was naked and hurriedly pulled the covers over himself. Although why he was bothering, when Childermass had just fucked him against his thigh and left him barely capable of speech...

"Better than what?" said Childermass.

"Than I feared. Than other things have been. I don't know," said Norrell. "I didn't think it would be." Something sank in, something that Childermass had said earlier. "Keep experimenting?"

"Didn't want your first time to be with a stranger, someone you couldn't trust," said Childermass. "That was the point. You know how the procedure works now, you know a bit of what you like and how to ask for it. I'm sure I can find you a willing gentleman."

"A gentleman?"

"Someone of your own station." Childermass shrugged. "I don't pretend there's no blackmailers among them, but I feel certain I can find one who might be amiable to a friendship of the kind you would like. And you need not have fear now that you'll be incapable, or that you won't like it."

"I suppose not," said Norrell. He realized with dismay that he had assumed this arrangement would be long-term, not once. But Childermass had only come to show him the right way, not to provide permanent relief. Perhaps that was...better. It would distract them both otherwise, no doubt.

Childermass pulled the blankets over him and, with a shockingly casual tenderness, kissed his temple. "You'd be better for some sleep."

"I suppose so. You could stay, if you'd rather not traverse the halls at this hour."

"Don't worry. I'll be fine." Childermass picked up his clothes and dressed himself neatly. "I don't get noticed if I don't want to be."

And, with that, he left.

Norrell wished, only a very little bit, that he'd stayed.

 

Norrell had intended to be patient. Childermass had told him that he would find him a gentleman friend; therefore, he would wait for Childermass to do so. Now that he had an understanding of the whole matter, he felt, he could wait quite without trouble. He attempted to bury himself in his work. This was not quite as successful as he had hoped, but it wasn't because he was impatient. It was because of Childermass.

Norrell had thought it would be distracting to carry on an affair with Childermass. As it happened, not doing so was equally distracting.

He was tormented. Childermass's hands, Childermass's lips, the way he moved, everything reminded Norrell of things he had rather not been reminded of. Why, oh why, had he ever thought changing names would be enough to keep things seperate? How could he have been so entirely foolish?

By the end of the week, he felt he could bear it no more. He had been in his study, attempting to work, when the memory had risen again and distracted him badly.

It occurred to him, halfway through trying to focus on revising last week's notes, that Childermass had said self-experimentation was sensible under his circumstances. Perhaps that would help. Perhaps he would be able to focus.

He slid the notes away and looked around. The drapes were closed. Everyone knew not to disturb him in his study. It ought to be safe.

He held his breath as he unbuttoned himself and reached inside. Ah...he closed his eyes and remembered last week's encounter. The pressure began to build a little. The feeling of Childermass's strong thigh, his hands, his teeth on Norrell's lip. The way he had smelled, the way his skin had felt when Norrell had dug his nails in.

Norrell heard the door click open and realized with a cold rush of terror that he'd forgotten to lock it. His eyes flew open and he hid his hands under the desk, frantically trying to button his breeches up, but his fingers would not cooperate. It was Childermass, of course, the only person who ever disturbed him, and only when the need was dire.

They stared at each other. Norrell wasn't sure if his current state of indelicacy was visible from the door, but he knew he was blushing furiously and that must give it away.

"What do you want?" said Norrell.

"I caught the housemaid stealing the silverware. She is, as it happens, part of a gang of thieves."

Ordinarily, Norrell would have lectured Childermass at length for his failure to detect this earlier. At the moment, thieving housemaids paled in comparison with his fury and embarrassment. He snapped "Sack her, find another, and get out of my study this very moment."

Childermass went. Norrell buttoned himself up at last, shaking with rage. How dare he. He hadn't even knocked. For a thieving housemaid! Of all things!

Just as he was contemplating whether it would be better to stay in here for the rest of the day or come out around supper-time, Childermass slammed the door back open, locked it behind him, turned Norrell around in his chair, and sat down in front of him.

"What are you doing?" said Norrell.

"I've sacked her and the rest can wait. If tha needed help, tha should have come to me," said Childermass.

"I don't need any help! You came in at an inopportune moment and ruined everything! You yourself said it was a good idea!"

"And it is, but I have a better one."

Norrell paused, distracted from his tirade. "What's that?"

"Introduce you to larking."

Norrell did not know what larking was, but did not want to admit that. "You said, only the one time..."

"Once more won't do any harm, if you want it," said Childermass.

"Yes," said Norrell.

Childermass busied himself with undoing what Norrell had just finished buttoning and pulling things down. Norrell began to get an inkling of what larking might be. He knew it under quite a different name, but he was sure the principle was the same. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Norrell's uncomfortably wound-up state had been quenched by the sudden shock, but his body had apparently held out hope that this would not last. Warmth returned as Childermass -- no, John -- parted and then began to kiss his inner thighs. He clutched the chair arm for support, glad suddenly that he wasn't standing.

John's breath was warm, and his perpetual stubble ticklish, sharp against the sensitive skin of his thighs. Norrell thought he would be quite content with this, that this would be enough, until John moved inward.

Norrell's eyes opened wide, and he clutched the chair a little. This was a very different kind of feeling than before. It was sharper and slicker, more acute, more direct. John was going slowly, as if to make it last. If he had wanted to help, he could have used his hands to quicker and easier effect. It was very charitable of him...

John switched from licking to sucking, first lightly and then harder, and Norrell couldn't quite stop himself from letting out a noise. His hands clenched and unclenched uselessly. After a moment, he felt John's hands over them, guiding them into his hair.

That was much better, it gave him something to do. He wound it tight around both hands and held on, pulling hard when John did something a little different and sent new waves shimmering through him. He could feel pressure building, building, like a wave slowly but surely getting ready to break. There was a much greater sense of it this time. Perhaps that was because there was nothing, no weight and no kissing and no need to move, nothing to distract him from the feeling.

He looked down at John, at his focused posture, a man as dedicated to creating feeling as Norrell was currently to feeling it. He felt a sudden, horrible spasm of warmth and awe. This was only for convenience, of course it was, and yet, and yet--

The building pressure distracted him by becoming acute. He pressed his tongue to his teeth to keep himself from making any noise and screwed his eyes shut. There was the crest, the breaking. A low moan escaped him, despite his best efforts, and his hands twisted and twisted in John's hair.

He came to himself gradually. His cap had been lost at some point, God knew how, and his clothes were generally crooked and disheveled. John was buttoning him up neatly. Norrell reached out both hands to help him up, but he waved him aside and grabbed the desk to lever himself up.

"Better?" he asked.

"Hmm," said Norrell. He looked at John critically. Although his exterior was, as ever, perfectly calm, he appeared to be in a state of some discomfort.

Norrell pushed him up against the desk and knelt. He wanted to see what it was like to be on the other end of that, to be the one concentrating so hard upon the taste and sight and sound of another person. Would this convey its own kind of pleasure?

"Ah," said John, furrowing his brow, "No need for that."

"Why not? Do you not enjoy it, would you rather something else? Do you prefer nothing at all? It can't be comfortable."

"It's not that I don't want it, it's that I'm not sure you'd find it a pleasant experience."

Norrell pinched his mouth very small. "Am I, or am I not, capable of making my own choices?"

"Knew that was a mistake as soon as I said it," muttered John.

"If I want to try taking you into my mouth, I _shall_ try taking you into my mouth, and you will not stop me by being a mother hen."

John said, half into his own fist, "Well, it wouldn't be very enjoyable if either of us had a beak..."

"Would you like it or would you not?" demanded Norrell imperiously.

John shrugged. "I'd like it well enough, but mind you stop if you find it unpleasant."

Norrell harrumphed, attempted to take the whole length of John into his mouth, choked, and fell back on his heels in his confusion.

"Told you," said John, watching him with what Norrell considered inappropriate amusement from a man currently so exposed.

"It would appear that I am in need of some tutoring," said Norrell, trying to regain his dignity.

John helped him back up onto his knees; he began to sound like Childermass again as he spoke. "Start slow. Don't try to do everything at once. Tongue first, then when you're comfortable with the whole affair you can try putting the tip in your mouth and work your way up from there. Slowly, mark you, and you don't need to manage all of it. You can use your hands on the rest." John took one of Norrell's hands, and closed it around himself, moving it back and forth. "That way. Clear enough?"

"Yes. That seems straightforward." Norrell settled himself more comfortably on his knees and approached the situation in a more logical way. As instructed, he began with licking, thinking back to the way John had. The anatomy was different, but the principle was the same, surely. One of John's hands was braced against the desk; the other was in Norrell's hair, stroking gently. Norrell found this acceptable, but faintly dissatisfying. He would rather, he thought, if John was less gentle.

Acclimated to the taste and texture, he carefully took the tip into his mouth, and sucked a little. John made a soft, encouraging noise, and his hands tightened in Norrell's hair. Pleased, Norrell attempted to move a little, but John winced and said "Careful of thy teeth."

Norrell attempted to widen his jaw. But this made it more difficult to suck. When he attempted to rectify the problem, he remembered about the teeth and got tangled up.

Dissatisfied, he detached himself. "Advise me."

John looked down at him in amusement. "What about?"

"I am finding it...difficult...to move and concentrate at the same time," he explained.

John considered this. "I could do the moving, if you would find that easier?"

"Yes, I believe that would be simpler." Norrell cleared his throat. "Chi--John?"

"Yes?"

"You may, ah, be less careful," said Norrell. "With your hands. In my hair."

Childermass raised an eyebrow. "May I indeed?"

"Don't be so impudent."

John gave him a look that seemed to take in their position, Norrell kneeling in front of John, Norrell's disarranged hair and absent cap, John's own state of undress. "Bit late for that."

Norrell harrumphed. "What am I to do?"

John took a light grip of Norrell's hair. "Relax your jaw and focus, that's all."

"You may still be less gentle than that."

John tugged Norrell's hair and looked at him. "Better?"

Norrell nodded and opened his mouth a little. John eased very carefully, no further than Norrell had had him before. Then he twisted his hands in Norrell's hair. "Ready, sir?"

Norrell made a dreamy noise that he hoped sounded like assent. He recalled that John wasn't supposed to call him sir while they were doing this, but the problem with was that he wanted awfully badly for him to do it again. While pulling his hair, preferably. Moreover, he was not currently in a position to say anything at all.

Fortunately, John understood, as he usually did, and began to move. The feeling was...Norrell had difficulty understanding it even himself. It was the sense of being used, or perhaps more so of being enjoyed. Not only was John not disgusted with him, John was finding pleasure in him, as he might in any other man.

There was, he found, a curious sense of power in being powerless. Here he was, a vessel of sorts, doing nothing but, as John had said to do, keeping his jaw relaxed and concentrating. And yet in that role, he was responsible for the low restless noises John was making, noises Norrell had never heard from him before. He was unlocking a desperation, a wildness, in John that he had never known existed. He wanted more of that.

He seemed to lose his sense of time. It stretched curiously, at once compressed into one second and stretched out into minutes. John kept moving, and his hands hands pulled at Norrell's hair. It was such an odd kind of pain: sharp, clarifying, tingling when John slackened his grip.

"Sir," said John, and then seemed to remember the rule--"That is, if you would rather I not finish inside of your mouth--" He made as if to pull away.

Norrell grabbed his leg and held him in place.

John groaned, a helpless groan that seemed to thrum in all of Norrell, thrust a few more times, and went off with a whispered curse and a bitten lip.

The resulting fluid had an exceedingly peculiar taste, with a very disagreeable texture. But John, as usual anticipating Norrell's needs, shakily provided him with a handkerchief in which to spit it.

"Didn't think you'd enjoy it," he said, so unsteady in contrast to his usual unflappability.

"The experience was a very positive one up until that point," said Norrell. "Curious, this sort of anatomy. It seems to convey a disadvantage. There must be a neater delivery system."

Childermass shook his head. "You do have an interesting way of looking at problems."

"I am a practical magician. I am accustomed to think clearly."

Childermass rubbed his own face, and began to button himself up again. Norrell looked around for his cap, which was nowhere to be found. That was very inconvenient, for it was his favorite, and what would the maid say if she found it while cleaning the room?

He spied it under a chair and fetched it, wondering how it could possibly have ended up there. As he pulled it back on and attempted to restore some order to his garments, he caught Childermass looking at him.

"Well?" he asked.

Childermass gave him a hand and helped him up. "I don't intend to hold you back from finding a friend of your own station. I am still looking."

Norrell let go Childermass's hand. "Why did you do it, then?"

"Came in and saw you like that, couldn't let you go on. I knew you'd be upset. I wanted you to know you need not be."

Norrell frowned. "I didn't want you to do anything for me out of pity. Nothing could be more abhorrent to me."

"Aye, well," said Childermass evasively. "I won't let it happen again, sir. I'll find you someone soon."

He didn't mention the broken rule. Norrell wanted him to. He wanted Childermass to tell him he'd found it just as affecting as Norrell had, that he'd been so completely overwhelmed with the idea that it had just slipped out. He wanted Childermass to want it to happen again. He wanted Childermass to pin him to the wall and take him like that until time stretched and kept stretching, on a regular basis.

But Childermass had only done it because he pitied Norrell.

He said, "Very well, then. You may go."

 

Childermass seemed to forget about the matter for another week and a half. True, he tended to avoid being alone in a room with Norrell, but this could have been coincidence. Norrell, however, did not forget it. He persistently thought of it in bed at night. He thought of what it would be like to have Childermass there, and what he would like for Childermass to do with him.

But of course it had only been a temporary arrangement. Childermass had felt sorry for him. In any case, Norrell didn't have to wait very long for someone else.

"I have a letter here from a gentleman who would like to make your acquaintance," said Childermass meaningfully, passing him the letter.

Norrell read the letter with no great enthusiasm. He felt, in his own mind, that no man could be as good as Childermass. No one else could understand him as well as Childermass. Nevertheless, this man, one Abraham Powell of Shotton, was to be in York not so very far in the future and would not be averse to a meeting with Mr Norrell at a village inn some ten miles away from Hurtfew.

"He's a good man," said Childermass. "A scholar of languages. I believe he is sufficiently well-off that blackmailing you would not be necessary for his purse, and I don't believe his temperament would be conducive to it. A mild-natured man by all accounts, and of our shared proclivities."

"He sounds tolerable," said Norrell, staring at the handwriting. It was large and steady, a good honest hand. "I suppose I shall tell him I could meet him."

The meeting was in due course arranged, and arrived with a speed which Norrell half hated and half thanked God for. Perhaps when all this was over Childermass would stop avoiding him. It was becoming very inconvenient. Did Childermass think that Norrell would do something inappropriate? Hadn't he managed to contain himself all this way? Norrell began to feel very cross.

But as the day arrived, Norrell found himself increasingly sick to his stomach. It wasn't only nerves; while it was true that he was very anxious about the outcome of this meeting, there was something else entirely which was bothering him.

He simply could not conceive of intimacy with a stranger.

This man, no matter how beautiful he was or how good his character, had never met him before. He would not understand all of Norrell's little peculiarities. He would not be comfortable, and he would not be safe, even if he didn't intend to harm Norrell. There was simply nothing appealing about the thought of kissing a strange man who barely knew him. There could be no attraction to someone he did not know, and would take many years to know well.

In the end, a week before, he wrote to Abraham Powell to say that he was ill and would on no account be able to travel the distance. He didn't tell Childermass.

Thus it was that when he came in from his walk on the day that he had been supposed to meet Abraham Powell, Childermass saw him and raised his eyebrows.

"Haven't you got an appointment to keep?"

"I wrote to him to cancel."

Childermass raised an eyebrow. "Something he did? Or was he not to your taste after all?"

Norrell frowned and took his cloak off. "He was a stranger. I couldn't...I didn't want him. Why would I want intimacies with someone I don't know?"

"Many people have had them," said Childermass, hanging the cloak in its proper place.

"But _I_ can't."

Childermass seemed to accept this. "Would you like me to try to find someone else? Someone you can...court? Closer, perhaps?"

Norrell made a sour face. "I'd rather not court. I find it all very tedious and artificial."

"What do you want, then?"

 _You._ "I don't know. I suppose it's no good. I could try again, I could try building a friendship with a gentleman, but I don't know that our tastes would accord..." _I want you. Our tastes already accord._ Norrell could not imagine shaping those words, letting them out and facing the inevitable rejection. He willed Childermass to read between the lines.

But Childermass, usually so adept, didn't offer. He stood up and said, "I'll try to think on it. Perhaps a solution can be found."

"It is not part of your duties."

"It is. I am your man of business. This is part of your business."

Norrell opened his mouth to try and say something: that it would save time if Childermass returned to his bed, and then both of them would be the better for it. He tried to say that he preferred Childermass's particular flair, and knew that Childermass would be safest. That it would be most comfortable for both of them. But then he thought about Childermass's face and how it would, surely, inevitably twist with disgust. Or worse, that he would not show that disgust, but that later it would emerge all the same.

For all of his life, he had found his own body distasteful. He had grown tired of that, and had wanted to find some pleasure in it. To have a partner in this endeavor who felt disgust for him, would render the whole endeavor worse than useless. And yet, anyone would surely find him disgusting.

Childermass was bidding him good-night and leaving. Norrell watched him go, and ruminated upon the problem.

Why did he not want to take a lover who was not Childermass?

He considered this. It was not Childermass, precisely. He was quite sure he was not in love with Childermass. Love was, he had heard, a very violent affair, very passionate. What he felt for Childermass was not so much passion as a degree of comfort. He had known Childermass for many years, and he knew he was safe. He had grown used to Childermass's face, and even (he could admit this in his head though nowhere else) perhaps fond of his looks. Their knowledge of each other, the bond of magic and work and familiarity between them, was what made Childermass appealing.

It would take many, many years to achieve that with someone else. Norrell did not have friends, and he did not enjoy the society of others. Where would he find another man who understood him so well, who was so very careful with all his difficulties? Who else could he trust with his fears?

No. It was Childermass or nothing.

Norrell resigned himself to the notion that it should be nothing.

 

The intentions were honourable. The intentions were very honourable. If Norrell had not had the memory of the last two times so close to the forefront of his mind, no doubt he would have put it all behind him. He was certain.

But then Childermass had a bad leg day. He came into the library, stick in hand, and sat down in front of the fire, wincing. If he was wincing visibly, Norrell knew, it must be particularly horrendous.

"You've been riding too much," said Norrell, addressing his book. He ought not have said this, but he was still angry at Childermass for having so low an opinion of him as to avoid him for weeks.

"If I have, it's your fault, since it's you who sends me on tasks."

"You could take the carriage."

"It's too slow."

Norrell, irked, turned to face him. "And what of you, unable to ride for days? Is that not too slow? I tell you, take more care with yourself, and you will perform your duties well."

Childermass leaned forward. "Have you any complaints," he said, slowly and sarcastically, "With how I have performed my duties thus far? If so, you can sack me."

Norrell remembered abruptly exactly what duties Childermass had been performing lately, and felt his face warm. He realized, to his horror, that he was now face-to-face with Childermass, on the sopha, only a little room between them.

Childermass seemed to realize it too; perhaps Norrell blushed visibly, and perhaps that blush alerted him. His eyes widened and then dropped to Norrell's lips.

One of them ought to move away. It ought to be Norrell. They ought not let this continue. They ought to be sensible.

Norrell commanded himself to move away. Instead, his eyes lowered to Childermass's hands, where they sat clenched on his thighs. His...thighs. Norrell felt the blush become more acute.

Childermass was not moving back either. Norrell willed him to, and then changed his mind. Only he couldn't bear this, this tension, not one second more. Something had to happen. Something.

Childermass moved a fraction of an inch forward. Norrell leaned forward, haltingly, and just brushed his lips against Childermass's.

He immediately regretted this, fearing to be pushed away, but Childermass grabbed him by the collar and kissed him back, with an edge almost of anger. He bit Norrell sharply and Norrell, trembling, drew in his breath.

"Are you sure?" said Norrell against his lips.

"Once more," mumbled Childermass, so close and so quiet Norrell could feel it as much as hear it, and kissed him again.

It was John who dragged him down onto the floor. Norrell thought about protesting -- the state of his back, et cetera -- but John immediately and methodically began stripping off Norrell's neckcloth and coat. When they were gone, he pressed Norrell flat by his shoulders and dipped his head to kiss his neck. It was less scratchy this time, John having shaved recently, but he more than made up for that with teeth, sucking hard at places where marks would not show. Norrell was going to be bruised tomorrow. The dip of his collarbone, the very lowest edge of his neck, would be covered in angry red marks, he was sure. That was good. That was very good. He wanted to be able to touch them, covertly, under his clothes, and remember.

They rolled onto their sides. John pulled one of Norrell's legs up around him, positioning them so they were body to body, and pressed against him. Norrell's hands found John's hair almost involuntarily, and he hung on, forehead braced against John's coat. He wanted to kiss and bite, but he could only reach hazily for John's jaw, running his lips and scraping his teeth along it. John moved, a slow torturous move, and shocks ran up and down Norrell's body.

It was different clothed, more diffuse, and somehow more knee-weakening. It was the kind of feeling that could edge into soreness, that left him itching for more. He pulled John's hair hard and enjoyed the short sharp grunt that this elicited. He scraped his nails down John's scalp, wishing he could reach his neck, his back. He wanted to mark.

When John came to his crisis against Norrell's body it was with a sound that seemed wrenched out of him, _Christ_ dissolving into a wordless cry too quiet to be heard beyond the walls of the library. Norrell wanted to keep pressing, he wanted John to keep making those noises, to make them louder and louder, to dissolve underneath him, to lose control. But there was no time to contemplate these ambitions. John had pushed him into his back, opened the buttons of his breeches, and was pulling his shirt from them. He was reaching inside of Norrell's underlayer. And now he was rubbing, circling--

Norrell clapped a hand over his own mouth. He was afraid otherwise that he would be heard. John's strokes were fast and hard, merciless, and he wanted to writhe away from them and yet lean into them. His hips jerked as he tried to do both at the same time. It was a matter of only a few minutes to bring him off, suddenly and shuddering, his breath hot and frantic against his hand and John's fingers a piercing point of light on him.

It took several moments for the aftershocks to fade. Norrell became aware that he was laying on the floor in the library, indecently exposed in front of the books, and scrambled to sit up and restore himself to good order.

"I'm sorry," he said, looking away from John.

"You were doing so well up to there," said Childermass, speaking for the first time since they had begun.

Norrell looked down at the floor. "You said it was pity, last time."

Childermass exhaled. "Suppose I did."

"I could pay you," began Norrell.

Childermass gave him a disgusted look and made as if to rise. "If that's what you think this is--"

Norrell reached out quickly and lay a hand on Childermass's arm. "Don't go. I won't--I see now that was the wrong thing to say."

"Do you," said Childermass, sighing. He rested his forehead against Norrell's, a gesture that somehow seemed more intimate than all the proceedings thus far. Norrell closed his eyes and put an arm around Childermass's waist, carefully. It was pleasant to lay there thus, safe and close, despite the considerable discomfort of being on a hard floor. Carpet could only do so much.

"We could," said Norrell tentatively, "We could go on this way. It needn't only have been once more. If you like."

Childermass was silent. Norrell's heart pounded very hard, and his fingers tingled with anxiety.

"I'll need to think about it," said Childermass, sitting up and grabbing onto the sopha to ease himself off the floor. Norrell's insides dropped, the way they did when he missed a step on a staircase. Childermass's stick had fallen, and he did not bend well on days like this; Norrell retrieved it from the floor and handed it up. Childermass took it, and went away. He seemed to be doing a great deal of that, lately.

 

Norrell did not see Childermass for the rest of the day. He tried to work, and managed a little bit of note-taking, but it was dreadfully hard to concentrate. He oughtn't have started all this in the first place, he supposed. He had thought that he was far enough along in his studies to endure a little distraction, but he hadn't reckoned on the unreasonable degree of emotional turmoil which would be involved. These things were supposed to be easy. That was the whole point of Childermass: he understood, being with him was simple.

When Norrell retired to his study to organize some of what he had written, he found a note: _Gone to investigate that report of an old book of magic in a farmhouse near Escrick. Back in a few days. - Ch_

For the first day, Norrell was certain that Childermass would not return. This was just an excuse. Surely he was angry and horrified by Norrell and had fled.

Then it occurred to him that Childermass would not have to leave a note if he wanted to leave. If he was really angry, he wouldn't have refrained from saying so. He often hadn't before. Therefore, the contents of the note could be taken at face value.

On the other hand, why had Childermass decided to leave at this moment except for reasons of being angry and disgusted or otherwise consumed with regret?

Norrell threw himself into his studies, and was surprisingly productive. He finished annotating all of the book he had been working on, and was crossreferencing some of the spells in it with a later volume. He was quite certain that comparison between the two would yield some fruitful information about the nature of transfiguration. It was upon this, and not upon his cares, that he was musing when he was in his bedroom for the evening, undressing.

He was, therefore, extremely startled to look up and see Childermass in the bedroom door. He hadn't even stopped to remove his overcoat or his boots, which were streaked with mud. Norrell stood up, still stockinged but nightshirted, said "There you are. What on earth are you doing in here with those muddy boots? You'll ruin the carpet."

Childermass stalked inside the room and towards Norrell. Norrell backed nervously towards the wall. Childermass would not hurt him. He was sure of that. Still, what if something terrible had gone wrong and he was not in his right mind. There was a certain light of concentration in Childermass's face, when he looked at it. But he kept coming on, and Norrell kept backing towards the wall, until Childermass leaned over, one hand on the wall, looming over him.

The look on his face was so intensely wanting that Norrell had to press his hand to the wall for support. This rapidly became more important, as Childermass grabbed his chin and kissed him.

It was a fierce kiss, a demanding kiss, a kiss that answered every question Norrell had been asking. It had teeth and intentions. Norrell did his very best to answer it, although he felt slightly unbalanced and was therefore not at peak form. Childermass didn't seem to mind very much.

"I take it," said Norrell, "that this means yes?"

"Later," said Childermass, and kissed him again. He was much gentler this time. His grip on Norrell's chin had become a caress, as if Norrell was something very fragile and would break if handled too roughly. This was unsatisfactory.

"You're being unnecessarily gentle again," he complained.

Childermass laughed. "Am I, sir?" He pinned Norrell's arms to the wall and kept kissing him. The kisses themselves were still gentle, but the hands on his wrists were tight enough almost to leave marks. The contrast was...extremely pleasant.

"Perhaps--a convenient flat surface--" suggested Norrell.

Childermass took his wrists and lead him over to the bed. "Get thee undressed. I don't want to waste time on it later."

"You are unbelievably dictatorial at times," said Norrell, taking his stockings off. He decided to leave the nightshirt on as it could be pulled up.

"Tha likes it," said Childermass, unconcernedly.

The pronouns reminded Norrell. "Am I still to call you John?"

"Doesn't matter anymore," said Childermass quietly.

Norrell took this in; the implications gave him pause. Childermass, then. That was how Norrell knew him, really. He plucked at his cuff buttons uselessly, his hands too nervous to quite catch hold of them. Childermass reached out and undid them for him, then smoothed the shirt up over his wrists. Norrell looked up, and found an expression of such familiarity and ease on Childermass's face that he could do nothing more for a moment.

Childermass gave him a conspiratorial smile, and went on unbuttoning his waistcoat.

Once they were undressed, Childermass reached for Norrell again, but Norrell shoved him away. "I have an idea," he announced.

"Go on, then."

Norrell pushed Childermass about until he was on his side, with Norrell laying behind him, hands around his waist. He had scooted up until he could just see over Childermass's shoulder, their legs tucked together.

"Now, I would like to touch you like this. But I will need some instruction. I would like you to show me how you would proceed if you were...alone, perhaps, and in need of relief."

Childermass gave an amused sort of snort. "That's a nice demure way of putting it."

Norrell bit him for this impudence. "Get on with it."

Childermass smirked and closed a hand around himself. Norrell watched his face first: he hadn't meant to, but he was caught on the half-slice of it he could see, the biting of the lip, the softly indrawn breath. Then he drew his gaze away and looked at the technique. He noted speed and rhythm, and where Childermass placed his hand, how he moved it.

After a few moments, he reached over and placed one of his own hands over Childermass's. "Keep going," he said.

Childermass's breath hissed out, but he didn't stop moving. "It doesn't please you?" said Norrell.

"No, it does" said Childermass in a low voice. "I've thought of it before, that's all."

Norrell blinked several times. "You--thought of me when you were--"

"Just like this. Me working myself over, and you'd come in, and put your hand on me..."

"Oh, god," said Norrell. He wondered if he ought to be insulted that his likeness had been used so indelicately, only he couldn't seem to mind. The particular beauty of the mental imagine aside, that meant Childermass _did_ want him, for himself. He wanted him so much he'd thought about it the way Norrell had, teased himself with pictures of Norrell in his head...

"What happens next, in your fancy?" said Norrell.

Childermass took a long, slow breath and said, more casually than he had any right to, "You make me take my hand off myself, and you use yours."

"Well then," said Norrell. He thought he understood the principle well enough now. Besides which, he had a plan.

As he moved his hand, he sunk his teeth into Childermass's shoulder. Childermass twitched and sighed. He kissed the spot, soothing it, and then moved to another spot and sucked as hard as he could.

"You seem to have intent," said Childermass, voice a little rough.

"You left marks on me last time."

"Did I? That wasn't intentional."

"Well, I am revenging myself upon you."

"As you like."

Norrell began to get a better feel for how Childermass was reacting. He sped up a little, to hear Childermass's soft indrawn breath, he slowed down to hear the frustrated hum. When Childermass's hips began to move faster, when his breathing became harsh, Norrell stopped.

Childermass made a protesting noise.

"No," said Norrell. "You musn't finish until I'm quite ready for you to. I shall be still until you calm down a little."

Childermass groaned. "I should never have given you notions. You'll be unbearable now."

"You are exceedingly rude," said Norrell, and took his hand away.

"That's what I got wrong about the whole fancy, I didn't characterise you as insufferable enough."

"Childermass, this is giving me no encouragement to continue."

When he started again, he noticed, Childermass was somewhat freer with his voice. Rather than suppressed hisses, he began to making little mmms, barely audible but there when Norrell leaned close. The further he got, the louder they got, until they were quite audible, until they were nearly leaning into the noise he tended to make when he was near.

Norrell stopped again. "Fuck you," said Childermass.

"In good time," said Norrell, swatting away Childermass's hand. This time he took it slower, drawing it out. He was getting better at gauging Childermass's reactions, drawing him closer and closer to his peak.

By the fourth time, Childermass was shaking. The fifth time he was swearing. "Christ on a fucking cross, goddamn it _please_ \--"

Norrell blinked. "What was that?"

"I said please goddamn you--"

"Say it again, if you mean it."

Childermass made a pained noise through gritted teeth and tried to press into Norrell's hand. " _Please_ , then, you utter bastard."

Norrell, who had never in his life been so pleased to be cursed at, set a rapid pace and in a few minutes had Childermass writhing and, to his great delight, moaning aloud. He spilled over into Norrell's hand, eyes screwed tightly shut, clutching the sheets hard.

Norrell looked around. There was no handkerchief to hand, and Childermass looked boneless and unhelpful, so he fetched the cloth from the basin and cleaned his hands.

"It really is terribly untidy," he said vaguely.

"Stop being so coherent," said Childermass from the bed, his eyes still closed.

"You've given me no reason to do so."

Childermass opened one eye and pulled Norrell into bed. Norrell flopped in an undignified fashion onto the pillows, with a complaining noise. This turned to a very different kind of noise when Childermass slid down and, using his mouth, brought him off with ruthless efficiency.

Afterwards, he rested his head on Norrell's thigh for a moment. Norrell reached down and began petting his hair before he quite realized what he was doing. Uncertain, he stopped.

"You can keep going," said Childermass into his skin.

So Norrell did. Eventually, Childermass crawled back up beside him on the bed. He lay hair in his face, eyes shadowed in the dim light of the moon.

"A yes, then," said Norrell.

"Aye."

"Good."

They lay there in silence for a very long time. Norrell thought he would sleep, but in fact he felt wakeful. The feeling of control, of power, had not yet dissipated. For the first time in his life, he felt as though someone might, perhaps, desire him. It was very odd.

"Why did you disappear for two days?" he said into the dark.

He heard Childermass shift a little on the bed. "I needed to think."

"Could you not do that at Hurtfew?"

"No. You were here." Childermass seemed to realize this would sting, so he added "It was you I needed to do the thinking about. Didn't want to get distracted and make a....mistake. Again."

"Oh." Norrell considered again the idea that he could possibly distract anyone. It was a fine and improbable notion. "Were they mistakes?"

"They did not align with my intentions. I do not often do things that do not align with my intentions."

"Aye," said Norrell, making a face. "Why not? It's beneficial for both of us, it seems to me."

"It's messy. I thought if you were turning to me for convenience, it would be better not to. Better to have someone more suited to your needs."

"But you see, you are not merely convenient. You do suit my needs. You're trustworthy, and safe. Where would I find someone else who understand me so well, and whose desires align with mine? And what else do I need?" Norrell wondered whether to mention that he was, also, fond of Childermass in a way. He decided against it, but Childermass seemed to read something in his tone anyway. He brushed his hand against Norrell's, in the dark. An understanding kind of caress. It seemed to say: we are neither of us any good at love, but here we are together.

Into the silence, Norrell found the courage to ask: "How long had you been...thinking of me, in that way?"

Childermass gave a short, soft, sarcastic laugh. "An inconvenient amount of time. Several years, I think it's been."

"So when you offered--"

"My intentions were what I said they were. I thought I could remain...professional."

"And when you came in and saw me, in the study?"

Childermass groaned. "I knew it had to be me you were thinking of, when I saw that look on your face. I'd been thinking of you all that time, and there you were, finally suffering the same way. I couldn't leave it, the opportunity was too good."

Norrell snorted indignantly. "And you lectured me about not becoming attached? Rules? Ha!"

"That was for your benefit, thank you."

"Well, you should have spoken earlier. We would both have been saved misery."

"You could have said something too, you know, sir."

"I have never been particularly skilled with words." Norrell thought for a moment. "Would you like to sleep here? There is room."

Childermass stretched, and sat up. "Safer not to. I'll sleep better in my own bed, anyroad up." He gathered up his clothes, shrugging his coat on as a sort of makeshift dressing gown. Norrell observed with fascination. He knew Childermass could walk through the corridors unnoticed, and it was gone midnight, but even so...

Childermass kissed his temple again as he went out. It had an unassuming and simple air that Norrell liked very much. It said: things are well, and I will see you tomorrow. "Goodnight, Childermass," said Norrell.

"Goodnight, sir," said Childermass.


End file.
